The first week of classes passed in a blur of syllabi, introductory lectures, and the gentle chaos of settling into new routines. By Friday afternoon, Donovan found himself at his small desk in the CUB Marketing office, finally feeling like he was getting his bearings after the disorientation of returning from Barcelona.

  "So," Jessica said, perching on the edge of his desk with a folder in hand. "Ready for your first real projects?"

  Donovan nodded, setting aside the brand guidelines he'd been studying. "Definitely."

  "Great." She handed him the folder. "Three things to start. First, we need updated graphics for our social media accounts—new semester, new look. Second, there's a welcome back concert next weekend that needs promotion. And third—" she tapped the folder with a manicured nail, "—this is the big one."

  Donovan opened the folder to find a brief for an international student outreach campaign.

  "The university wants to increase engagement with international students, make sure they're aware of all the resources and activities available at the CUB," Jessica explained. "Your study abroad experience makes you perfect for this. You understand what it's like to navigate a foreign campus."

  Donovan skimmed the brief, excitement building. This was exactly the kind of project he'd hoped for—meaningful, challenging, and a perfect addition to his portfolio. As Jessica walked away to check on another intern, Donovan felt a surge of confidence. This project would draw directly on his experiences in Barcelona—the disorientation of those first weeks, the challenges of navigating a new culture, the small gestures that had made him feel welcome.

  His phone buzzed with a text from Tyler.

  PR groups assigned yet?

  Donovan smiled, typing back quickly.

  Just happened. I'm with Mackenzie, Josh, and Tyler. We got the Pullman Farmers Market as our client.

  The response came almost immediately.

  Nice! It's about food—right up your alley. Still good for Moscow tonight?

  Absolutely. Can't wait.

  That night at Rainbow Reels was exactly what Donovan needed—a chance to fully reconnect with Tyler and their friends, to reintegrate into the life he'd temporarily left behind. The converted brick warehouse on the edge of downtown Moscow transformed into a vibrant sanctuary, and for the first time since his return, Donovan felt fully present.

  The drag show was spectacular—performers turning farm imagery into high drag, a biology grad student lip-syncing as "Mitosis" with a costume that split apart. Between acts, Donovan danced with Tyler, their bodies finding their familiar rhythm together, Tyler's hands on his waist making Barcelona seem very far away.

  During a crowded moment at the bar, Donovan slipped away to the restroom hallway and quickly messaged Alejandro.

  At a drag show with friends. Wish you could see it—these queens make magic with practically nothing. How's your morning?

  The reply came after a moment:

  Just waking up. Coffee needed immediately. A drag show sounds amazing. Take pictures? Though I'd rather see you.

  Donovan smiled, quickly typing back:

  Too dark for good photos. I'll try to describe it later. Miss you.

  Miss you more. Enjoy your night. Call tomorrow?

  I'll try. Might be busy with Tyler. Talk soon.

  He pocketed his phone and headed back, only to nearly collide with Tyler in the hallway.

  "There you are," Tyler said, a slight furrow in his brow. "I was looking for you."

  "Sorry," Donovan replied, hoping the dim lighting hid any guilt on his face. "Bathroom break. You know how those Moscow cosmos hit."

  Tyler's expression cleared, and he laughed. "God, they do mix them strong here."

  By the time they called it a night at nearly two in the morning, Donovan was pleasantly exhausted. In Jordan's car back to Pullman, Tyler's head grew heavy on his shoulder, his breathing evening out as he drifted to sleep. Donovan placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, a surge of affection washing over him.

  This was real, he reminded himself. This connection, this history, this life they shared—it was solid and true. But as the car wound through sleeping Pullman, he couldn't completely silence the small voice reminding him of the text message burning in his pocket, of the man across an ocean who was even now going about his day with Donovan in his thoughts.

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  Back at home as they got ready for bed, Tyler paused in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush in hand. "You've been on your phone a lot tonight," he said, his tone casual but observant. "Everything okay?"

  Donovan's hand tightened slightly around his phone before he set it on the nightstand. "Yeah, just Emma. She's been having drama with her flatmates in London."

  "Ah." Tyler nodded, seemingly satisfied, and disappeared back into the bathroom. But Donovan caught the briefest flicker of something in his expression—not quite suspicion, but maybe... curiosity? Awareness?

  He pushed the thought away and climbed into bed, but the unease lingered.

  Three weeks into the semester, Pullman had settled into its familiar college-town rhythm. The initial chaos had given way to the steady pulse of lectures, assignments, and group projects. For Donovan and Tyler, the pace had been relentless—between Tyler's business capstone requirements and Donovan juggling his PR campaign project and CUB internship, they'd barely had time to properly talk, much less relax.

  Which made this lazy Saturday morning all the more precious.

  Sunlight streamed through the half-open blinds of their apartment, casting warm stripes across the kitchen floor as Donovan whisked eggs in a bowl. The smell of brewing coffee filled the small space, mingling with the aroma of the sourdough bread he'd just popped into the toaster. From the living room came the faint sounds of Tyler's game—some strategy title he'd been obsessed with lately—keyboard clicks interspersed with occasional muttered commands.

  His phone vibrated on the counter, and he quickly picked it up, a small smile forming as he read the new message from Alejandro. He typed a quick response, then set the phone down to turn his attention back to the eggs, only to pick it up again a moment later when another message arrived.

  They had fallen into a routine over the past few weeks—messages exchanged in the quiet moments between classes or late at night, occasional calls when Tyler was out, a constant connection maintained across the miles. Donovan was getting better at multitasking—stirring eggs with one hand while typing with the other, keeping an ear out for Tyler's movements, maintaining the delicate balance of his divided attention.

  "Something smells amazing," Tyler said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. He was still in his sleep clothes—flannel pajama pants and a faded WSU t-shirt with a small hole near the collar that he refused to throw away. His hair was rumpled from sleep, and there was a faint pillow crease on his cheek that Donovan had always found endearing.

  "Just eggs and toast," Donovan replied, quickly setting his phone face-down on the counter as he turned back to the stove. "Nothing fancy. Coffee's ready if you want some."

  Tyler moved to the coffee pot, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. "You're a lifesaver. I was getting my ass handed to me in that game."

  They settled on the couch with their plates, the morning sun creating a small pool of warmth in their apartment. Tyler had paused his game, the laptop pushed to the side in favor of breakfast.

  "So," Tyler said after a few bites, "who's got you smiling at your phone like that? You've been glued to it all morning."

  Donovan felt a small jolt of panic, quickly masked behind a casual shrug. "Oh, just Ava. She's been sending me memes about our Spanish professor. Se?ora Ramirez wore this outfit yesterday that had us all trying not to laugh—it looked exactly like the Spanish flag."

  The lie came easily, almost too easily, and Donovan took a large bite of toast to cover any hint of deception.

  "Ava's hilarious," Tyler said, accepting the explanation. "We should have her over sometime."

  As Tyler launched into an explanation of his game's complex territorial mechanics, Donovan felt a twinge of guilt. This was Tyler —open, honest, sharing his interests without reservation. While Donovan was constructing careful falsehoods, hiding messages, living a life divided.

  "You're not really following any of this, are you?" Tyler asked, his tone amused rather than accusatory.

  "Sorry," Donovan said, refocusing. "I was just thinking about all the work waiting for me."

  Grateful for safer territory, Donovan shared updates about the farmers market campaign, how his team was developing strategies to connect local farmers with the student population. Tyler listened, genuinely interested, and Donovan found himself warming to the topic despite his earlier discomfort.

  As they talked, Donovan's phone screen illuminated with another message notification. He quickly turned it over before Tyler could see, the momentary connection with Alejandro once again overshadowed by the reality of his deception.

  They spent the next hour going over their schedules—Tyler had assignments due, a career fair coming up, and study groups that met three times a week. Donovan detailed his internship projects, his Spanish presentation, and the next steps for the PR campaign. It was ordinary, this careful coordination of two busy lives, unremarkable except in how it weave their separate existences into a shared fabric.

  "Oh, and don't forget we need to go grocery shopping," Tyler added.

  "We could go tomorrow?"

  "Perfect. And maybe we can grab lunch at that new place by Safeway? The one with the fancy grilled cheese sandwiches?"

  "You had me at fancy grilled cheese."

  Tyler grinned, leaning over to press a kiss to Donovan's cheek. "This is nice, you know. Just us, no rush, no deadlines. I've missed it."

  "Me too," Donovan admitted, and it was true. Despite everything—Barcelona, Alejandro, the secrets between them—there was still this: the simple pleasure of a quiet morning with someone who knew him, who had built a life alongside him.

  Tyler rested his head on Donovan's shoulder, his weight familiar and comforting. "I know it's been crazy lately, with all the senior year stuff. But it's worth it, right? We're almost there—graduation, Seattle, real adult jobs. All that future we've been talking about."

  There was something vulnerable in Tyler's voice, a question beneath the statement that made Donovan's chest tighten. He wrapped an arm around Tyler's shoulders, pulling him closer. "It's definitely worth it."

  As they sat together in the pool of sunlight, Donovan tried to focus on the moment, on the warmth of Tyler beside him, on the life they had carefully constructed together. But his eyes kept drifting to his phone, face-down on the coffee table, a small physical reminder of the division in his heart.

  Tyler didn't seem to notice, his attention back on describing his upcoming career fair, the companies he hoped to impress, the future he was working toward—their future, the one they had planned together. Donovan listened, nodding in all the right places, offering encouragement and suggestions, playing his role in this familiar conversation.

  But beneath it all, a small voice whispered that their carefully coordinated schedules, their well-laid plans, their shared future—all of it rested on a foundation that was no longer as solid as Tyler believed.